


In August

by cridecoeur



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-04
Updated: 2005-09-04
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:39:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cridecoeur/pseuds/cridecoeur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles (ish) for dogdaysofsummer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In August

**Author's Note:**

> THIS FORMAT IS PRETENTIOUS I AM SORRY. But I was a really pretentious teenager. I can't even say I only did it once. I did it multiple times. ... Actually this note is unfair. I am also a really pretentious adult. Not much has changed expect that I no longer abuse the shit out of parenthesis. Now I use dashes!

–even in August Remus wears his corduroy trousers though they stick with the heat to his hips and thighs and he’s grown three inches in July so his skinny ankles peak out beneath the cuffs and when he runs with Sirius to that tree in the yard brown grass and yellow leaves slap and cling to his calves with a dry sound, he thinks, like laughter like bare feet like crushed cricket wings and when Sirius spins back and kisses him by the crooked rope swing tasting like dust and ink and September Remus thinks oh thinks summer thinks now–

 _(Sirius came through the floo that day with his fringe plastered in curlicues against his eyes and a letter from Remus clutched in his hand so tight his fingernails cut four crescent moons in his soft palm.)_

–and even in August Sirius’ fingers trace lazy circles against the ridge of his hips, the skin of his stomach, the small of his back where pale freckles dust summer days and sunlight down his body ( _a calendar for young boys in the brown diffusing angles of his spine, his vertebrae_ ) as lips brush across his jaw and the buttons of his shirt pop one by one until the sleeves slide down and off his shoulders and Sirius curls his long fingers around Remus’ skinny wrists and pins him to that tree in the yard beside the crooked rope swing–

 _(In the kitchen, their teacups press rings of dust and heat and Earl Grey into the table, forgotten for the taste of sweat and summer on their tongues.)_

–and even in August Remus smells of wool and tea and soap and fresh air though the browndead grass beneath their feet crackles like teenage arson could stick to their soles and insteps ( _like sweat sticks this palm to this stomach and this mouth to this shoulder_ ) like they could burn down this thing this place this whole heat weary world if they only pressed their heels down hard in the dust and ground the fire out ( _and_ oh _but Remus knows heat as Sirius drags his tongue across his collarbone and sucks at the hollow of his long pale throat_ )–

 _(On the porch, the screen door thumps one two, one two against a crooked frame, gives this summer day a rhythm like the pound of bare boy feet.)_

–and even in August dirt and leaves and beetle wings scuttle across their toes and tickle when the hotdry wind blows so they laugh around lips and tongues and teeth, giggle like young boys beside that tree in the yard with the crooked rope swing ( _and these are young boy games played against the ink and dust and color of September_ ) and when Remus tilts back, knocks his head against that ( _bloody brilliant_ ) tree and makes those softpain sounds Sirius presses close and mumbles so clumsy my moony with his mouth sloppy and red and wet against Remus’ temple–

 _(And even in August that crooked rope swing holds two, carefully, in a tangle of bare arms and pointy elbows and knobbly young boy knees.)_


End file.
